


all of the while (i never knew)

by middlecyclone



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/pseuds/middlecyclone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy works in a coffee shop. Natasha isn't her favorite customer, technically, but she's definitely the hottest. And the most secretive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all of the while (i never knew)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for (obviously) the coffee shop au square on [Femslash February Trope Bingo](http://femtropebingo.tumblr.com). Clearly, I'm not very good at making coffee shop AUs be actually about coffee shops.
> 
> Also, I apologize for 80% of the plot of this fic.

Darcy likes working as a barista, mostly. Sure, there’s always the odd customer who is just unpleasant beyond belief, and the opening shifts are killer on her internal clock, but on the whole? It’s a part-time gig, so she can still work for Jane and do all that weird science-y stuff she doesn’t understand but is occasionally world-endingly important. Plus, not only does it pay the rest of the rent that her intern’s salary really just can’t cover, but she also gets free coffee out of it. It’s basically ideal, really.

Also, there are certain perks. Like really, truly, incredibly hot customers. Sure, it’s shallow, but Darcy’s never claimed to be especially deep, and when incredibly tall incredibly built blond dudes walk into her shop and order “one large coffee, room for milk,” Darcy is definitely going to enjoy the view.

Today Darcy’s eye-candy isn’t the tall blond dude, or the super hot dark-skinned guy who comes in with him a lot. Darcy is just reaching behind the counter for a towel to wipe the tables down when the bell on the front door rings, and she looks up to see the most ridiculously beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her entire life walk into the coffee shop.

“Jesus Christ,” Darcy says loudly, dropping the towel.

The woman tilts her head and looks curiously at Darcy. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” Darcy says, picking up the towel. “You’re just, like, really pretty. Are you a movie star?”

The woman looks at her. She’s got curly auburn hair, full lips that are currently quirked into a confused half-smile, and clear blue eyes that kind of, like, sparkle. It’s ridiculous.

“Seriously,” Darcy continues, “are you sure you’re not some sort of celebrity? Actress, pop singer, model? You should definitely be on TV for one reason or another.”

The woman frowns at that. ”No,” she says firmly, “I’m not … famous. Can I just get a medium latte, please?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Darcy says, but there’s still something about the woman that feels so overwhelmingly familiar, and yet she just can’t quite place it. “Were you on, like, a reality show? The Bachelor or something?”

The woman snorts at that. “No,” she says, and her face is impassive, but Darcy can hear a hint of amusement in her voice.

“All right, if you say so,” Darcy says. “For here or to go?”

“For here.”

“Gotcha,” Darcy says, and flips the espresso machine on. It makes its customary forebodingly loud noises, but Darcy ignores them and continues, sneaking glances at the woman through her long dark hair in between filling the cup. She’s wearing a leather jacket and really tight jeans and excellent high heeled boots that Darcy is pretty sure she’s been coveting online for at least six months. God, she’s hot, Darcy can’t stop herself from thinking, but – well. There’s no point in lusting over random customers she’s never going to see again, so she brushes it off and hands the latte over.

“That’ll be $2.65,” Darcy says, with a flirtatious grin, and the woman drops a five on the counter and smiles tightly.

“Keep the change,” she says, and walks over to a corner table; she moves incredibly gracefully, like a ballet dancer or possibly some sort of large cat. She sits down and pulls a battered paperback copy of Crime & Punishment out of … somewhere – seriously, those jeans are practically skintight, Darcy has no idea where the hell she was keeping 600 pages of Dostoevsky – before taking a tentative sip and beginning to read.

Darcy doesn’t watch her read the book, because that would be creepy and weird – oh, who is she kidding, she totally totally does. Something about the woman’s hair, or her facial structure, or maybe her mannerisms keeps jogging something in the back of her mind, like a half-remembered dream. Darcy is a little concerned she might be losing it, honestly.

Luckily for her own sanity and her chances of not getting a restraining order filed against herself, right then the shop gets incredibly busy when a huge crowd of tourists flock through the door, bell ringing relentlessly, and Darcy has to immerse herself in a flurry of fancy coffee drinks and blueberry muffins.

Forty-five minutes later, when the shop is mostly quiet again, she glances back towards the corner table, but the woman is, of course, gone.

 

* * *

 

She comes back, though. Not the next day, or the day after that, but three days later, when the morning rush is just winding down, the woman walks into the coffee shop again and smiles brightly at Darcy.

Darcy, dazzled, grins back. “Hi!” she chirps.

“Give me all the coffee you have,” the woman says, and now Darcy notices that the brightness of her smile is at least partly forced; she’s still kind of radiantly beautiful, like a Rembrandt painting or a contestant on America’s Next Top Model, but that can’t quite cover up the shadows under her eyes, or the way she’s limping slightly in her fabulous high-heeled boots.

“Yeah, no, sorry,” Darcy says, gesturing at the enormous sack of coffee beans behind the counter. “I’m pretty sure I cannot legally do that. Because you will die.”

The woman widens her eyes entreatingly. “Please?”

Darcy is temporarily swayed before she remembers that giving her the entire contents of the coffee shop would be literally insane. “No! God!”

She really does look like she’s been awake since … well, since Darcy saw her last, honestly, so Darcy sighs. “I will make you a five-shot latte,” Darcy concedes. “It’s enough caffeine to cause serious heart problems. Good enough?”

“I love you,” the woman says fervently, leaning over the counter. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone before.”

“Yeah, okay, calm down,” Darcy says, blushing, and grabs a cup. “I’m literally just doing my job.”

“I don’t care,” the woman says, “The other barista only ever gives me a quadruple. Please marry me.”

“I can’t very well marry you if I don’t know your name,” Darcy points out. “Also, I think you’re suffering from serious sleep deprivation, and I’m not sure anything you say when you’re this out of it can be legally binding.”

“I’m Nata – Nadia,” the woman says.

“Darcy.”

“I know. You’re wearing a nametag.”

There is no dignified response to this, so Darcy just hands over the disgustingly over-caffeinated latte. The woman – Nadia – tries to pull out her wallet to pay for it, but Darcy waves her away. “On the house,” she says.

“I can’t—“ Nadia tries to protest, but Darcy won’t hear it.

“Seriously, I’m pretty sure if you don’t drink this immediately, you’re going to pass out on the floor here,” Darcy says, “And I really don’t want to have to scoop you off the floor. You look pretty light, but God knows what you’ve got hidden in that jacket.”

Nadia looks inexplicably nervous at that joke, but she takes the latte with a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she says softly.

“Don’t get used to it,” Darcy advises. “I only give away free coffee to the dangerously sleep-deprived. Come in here tomorrow looking like an actual functioning human being, and I’ll make you pay just like the rest of the un-zombified.”

Nadia laughs (laughs!) at that, the sound bright and sparkling, and takes another deep swig of the latte before looking straight into Darcy’s eyes. “It’s a plan,” she smirks, and Darcy doesn’t blush, because come on. She’s Darcy Lewis. She’s flirted with Norse gods and government officials and once, memorably, a dude in a Mickey Mouse outfit. Darcy Lewis doesn’t blush for anyone.

But it’s a close thing.

 

* * *

 

Nadia starts coming in almost every day, after that. She never orders the same thing twice – one day it’s espresso, the next a vanilla hazelnut latte, another day just plain medium roast drip coffee. She’s always wearing skintight pants and some sort of leather jacket and once, memorably, a pair of aviator sunglasses that make Darcy want to grab them right off her face and make out with her right in the middle of the shop, over espresso machine if need be.

Darcy, of course, doesn’t. She smiles politely and asks Nadia inane questions, most of which go unanswered, and makes her coffee. Nadia always comes in at the same time, right in the middle of the midmorning lull, and after that first day she always gets her order to go. Darcy takes this opportunity to write all over Nadia’s paper cups – drawings of kittens, quotes from her favorite movies, her phone number once (or five times). Nadia never acknowledges any of these additions aloud, but Darcy lives for the way her lips always curve up infinitesimally at the corners whenever Darcy adds a particularly funny quote or an especially absurd drawing.

She doesn’t always come in alone, either. Nadia’s brought tall blond eyecandy once or twice, and Darcy had briefly wondered if they were dating, but there’s something about the way that Nadia holds herself when she’s with him that makes Darcy think probably not. She’s more tense, almost; more guarded, less open with her smiles. He’s probably a work colleague, Darcy assumes, but she still doesn’t smile quite as brightly or as flirtatiously as she would have usually. Whatever.

Anyway, Darcy still doesn’t realize exactly how far gone she is over this random customer who she knows almost nothing about, until Nadia comes in later than usual one day, right as Darcy is punching out.

“Hey,” Nadia says.  
“Oh, sorry,” Darcy says, pulling her work apron off, “But I’ve got to go, my shift’s over.”

“I know,” Nadia says, face as impassive as usual, but Darcy can hear an edge of something unfamiliar in her voice. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay,” Darcy says, caught off guard. “Well, I have an hour until I have to be in the lab for my other job—“

“Let me buy you lunch,” Nadia says, and it’s more of a command than a request, and Darcy blinks.

“Um—“

“There’s a great place a block or two away,” Nadia insists, “Their butternut squash soup is to die for. Come on.”

“I—yeah, okay,” Darcy agrees, mentally trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and then Nadia is right next to her, and Darcy barely has time to grab her purse before she’s being ushered out the door and down the street.

“So, this is nice,” Darcy starts to say, but Nadia shushes her immediately.

“Wait till we get there,” she instructs, “It’s not safe out here.”

Darcy takes a minute to let that sink in. “Wait, what do you mean it’s not safe—“ she starts to say, but Nadia just shoots her a pointed look and Darcy falls silent.

Now that Darcy is watching for it, she can see the tension in the other woman’s shoulders, can see the way her eyes flicker across the street, always moving, as if she’s searching for something. Darcy sees the way her left hand is beating out an unending nervous rhythm on her thigh, can see the way her right hand is clenched into a fist and hovering near her jacket pocket, and Darcy feels an unwilling tendril of fear uncurl within her. Something is definitely not right.

They get to the restaurant, and Nadia tugs her into a corner booth, puts her own back against the wall and her eyes focus on the street outside, and motions Darcy to sit down across from her.

Darcy does. “Okay, we’re here,” she says, “Now what the hell is going on?”

Nadia sighs. “Something’s up at work,” she admits reluctantly. “I have a … dangerous job, and I’m going to have to disappear for a few days. Weeks, maybe. I just wanted to tell you now so you don’t worry and do something stupid like call the police.”

Darcy rolled my eyes. “You’re a customer at the coffee shop where I work,” she points out. “What the hell would I even tell the police? Hi, this woman whose last name I don’t know has stopped buying coffee? Come on, give me some credit.” But then she looks over and sees the anxiety that’s plain on Nadia’s face, probably the most emotion she’s seen her visibly show since that time when she’d shown up dead on her feet exhausted, and Darcy backtracks. “But thanks,” she says softly, “Because I would have worried. And probably tried to track you down somehow, at the very least. So I appreciate it.”

Nadia nods sharply. “Yeah, tracking me down is the other kind of stupid thing you can’t do,” she insists. “Because … these people tracking me know about you. They know we’re friends. They know I … care about you. And they’ll take advantage of that.”

“Awww, you care about me?” Darcy says, pleased. Then she stops. “Wait, what do you mean ‘take advantage of that’? Am I gonna get kidnapped? What the hell is your job, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you,” Nadia says, “But just know that you have to be careful, okay.”

“That’s not an answer,” Darcy says, starting to get annoyed. “Wait, what the hell. You can’t pull me away and give vague warnings about danger and disappearing and then not even tell me what you do.”

“It’s classified—“ Nadia starts to say, but Darcy cuts her off.

“My other job is classified,” she insists, “But if it was going to be dangerous to you, I would tell you. This isn’t fair.”

Nadia looks confused. “Wait, your other job is classified?”

“Not important!” Darcy says, flailing her hands around in frustration. “What’s important is that you’re putting me in danger just by talking to me while I make your coffee! And you won’t even tell me what kind of danger! What the hell!”

“Um—“

“And you ‘care about me’? What the hell is that? If you really cared about me, maybe you’d take me on a real date instead of yanking me away from work and making me listen to this nonsense!”

“I’m sorry, but this—“

“I don’t want to hear it,” Darcy snaps. She moves as if to grab her purse, but Nadia reaches out her hand.

“No, stop,” she says pleadingly, “You have to listen.”

“No, I don’t,” Darcy says, voice icy. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“As a favor, then,” Nadia says, and Darcy looks at her wide entreating eyes, and sighs.

“Fine,” she huffs, “I’ll listen, but you better deliver on that soup.”

Nadia cracks a tentative smile, and gestures to the waitress to order their lunch. Darcy sits in stony silence.

“So here’s the thing,” Nadia says when the waitress leaves again, “I don’t talk to anyone, really. Not outside of work. But I talk to you.”

Darcy waits.

“And there’s no reason to think that these bad people know about it,” Nadia continues. “I mean, you’re a barista at the shop next to my office. But this job is … more dangerous than usual, more personal. I need to cover all my bases. I need you to be on the lookout for suspicious people.

“So that’s what this is,” Nadia says, “not so much a warning as an alert. A cautionary notice, really.”

“Because you care about me,” Darcy says drily.

“Yes,” Nadia returns simply. “So I’ll be gone for a few weeks, and then I am going to come back and tell you everything, and take you out on a real actual non-horrible date.”

Darcy blinks, hard. “Wait, so this is a date? This is a terrible date. I’m very confused.”

Nadia ignores her. “But for now, keep your eyes open, keep your mouth shut, and wait, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy says automatically.

“Great,” Nadia says, smiling, and then she leans over the battered wooden table and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Darcy’s lips.

“What.” Darcy says, too loudly, but then Nadia is dropping a handful of bills on the table and walking away, waving goodbye over her shoulder. She’s gone before Darcy has the time to formulate a full reaction.

“What.” Darcy says again, dropping her head downward to rest on the table. “Literally what the hell.”

Nadia’s right about at least one thing, however. The soup really is excellent.

 

* * *

 

“Okay,” Jane says, “You’ve been moping for like three weeks. What’s up?”

Darcy looks up from where she had been painting her nails instead of doing any actual lab work with a guilty start. “Moping? Me? Never.”

Jane just looks at her. “Yesterday you ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s while marathoning four separate adaptations of Pride and Prejudice,” she points out.

Darcy has no response to this, because it’s entirely true.

“I’m just really passionate about Austen,” she attempts. “And come on, can’t a girl just really enjoy ice cream?”

“This is getting pathetic,” Jane says, ignoring her. “Come on. You do nothing except work and sleep and cry while Colin Firth takes his shirt off. As your best friend, it’s my duty to stage an intervention.”

Darcy frowns. “Wait, this is an intervention?”

“It’s about to be,” Jane says grimly, and tugs at Darcy’s arm. Jane being approximately the size of a … really tiny thing, this is pretty ineffectual. But Darcy allows herself to be pulled out of her chair, anyway.

“Wait, so what’s happening?”

“We’re going out,” Jane informs her. “We are going to get drunk, and dance, and then get even more drunk, and then you’re going to start crying about whatever’s making you wear so much black lately, and then I’m going to fix whatever’s making you wear so much black lately, and then I’m going to come back home and have sex with Thor while you throw up all over the couch.”

Darcy makes a face. “That doesn’t sound like very much fun,” she whines.

“Well, it’s going to be,” Jane says firmly. “Come on. Put on something slutty.”

“Everything I own is slutty,” Darcy tells her. Jane just looks pointedly at Darcy’s sweatpants and turtleneck sweater. “Oh, screw you,” Darcy mutters, but she lets Jane take her home and pick out her tightest, sparkliest, shortest black dress anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Jane,” Darcy slurs, “She’s soooo pretty.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s enough alcohol for you,” Jane says, and tugs Darcy’s – third? fourth? whatever – rum and coke out of her hands. “Y’know, I really thought this would take more than this. I guess we’re just skipping the fun dancing drunkenness part of tonight.”

“But—“

“Yeah, she was pretty, we got it,” Jane sighs. “She’s some random customer. You don’t even know her last name.”

Darcy sighs and drops her head down to rest it on her folded arms. “She told me she cared about me,” she says, voice muffled. “She said she would come back for me and take me out on a date. She told me she was being chased by evil dangerous people and that she would come back when she vanquished them.”

Jane pats her shoulder sympathetically. “People say all sorts of things,” she advises. Darcy ignores her.

“She wore leather pants one time,” Darcy whines. “Leather pants, Jane. Like she was fulfilling some sort of Buffy the Vampire Slayer themed teenage sex dream I had. I am never going to get a customer this good again.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Jane says, trying for comforting and missing by a mile, “I’m sure another scary coffee lady in sexy clothes will come along any day now.”

“There is only one scary sexy coffee lady for me,” Darcy wails, and that’s when Nadia walks into the bar.

“Wait!” Darcy says, sitting bolt upright. “That’s her!”

“What?” Jane turns around, looking in the direction of Darcy’s gaze. “Where?”

“Over there!” Darcy points excitedly, “In the black shirt!”

“Oh my God, Darcy, stop, that’s—“ Jane starts to say, but Darcy has already bolted out of her seat and is halfway across the bar before Jane can finish her sentence.

“Hey!” Darcy says, and taps Nadia on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Nadia whirls around and stares at her, blood draining from her face. “Recon,” she hisses. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting wasted,” Darcy says, and folds her arms. “You said you would be gone for a few days, not a few weeks,” she says accusingly.

Nadia bites her lip. “Things got … complicated,” she hedges. “Some people from my past sort of … reappeared. With lots of weapons. Look, now isn’t a good time, there might be people here—“

“There are definitely people here,” a low Russian-accented voice says from behind Nadia, and Darcy catches a glimpse of a knife and, strangely, way too much eyeliner before she pulls her Taser out of her pocket and shocks the hell out of him.

“Oh my God,” Nadia says, looking at the man’s prone and twitching form on the floor.

“Oh my God,” the tall hot dude from the coffee shop echoes, before dropping to his knees and handcuffing the still-flailing Russian guy.

“Oh my God,” Jane shrieks coming up from behind Darcy. “What the hell!”

Nadia turns to look at her. “Dr. Foster?”

“Agent Romanoff,” Jane returns.

“Oh, so you two know each other!” Darcy says happily. Then she frowns. “Wait, how? And who the hell was he?”

“One of the most dangerous men in the world,” blond dude informs her, before saying something into a headpiece.

“Oh, cool,” Darcy says.

“You tased the Winter Soldier,” Nadia informs her.

Darcy shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”

“That’s Natasha Romanoff! You’re dating Black Widow!” Jane screeches in her ear.

“Wait, what?”

Nadia doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. “I told you my job was classified,” she says. Then frowns. “Wait. You said your other job was classified? Have you been working for Dr. Foster this whole time?”

“What, you thought making coffee could pay the bills all on its own?”

“Wait,” Nadia continues, with a look of dawning horror. “Darcy. Darcy Lewis?”

Darcy smiles winningly.

“Oh my God,” Nadia groans. “You have a whole file at S.H.I.E.L.D, you realize that?”

Darcy shrugs, then looks interested again. “Wait, is my iPod in that folder? I still haven’t gotten that back.”

“I bought you another one for Christmas!” Jane says, annoyed. Darcy just rolls her eyes.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she says, and then turns, glaring. “Speaking of principles, you definitely should have mentioned that you were a goddamn Avenger, Nadia.”

The tall blond dude snorts. “Seriously, Nat? You’ve been calling yourself Nadia?”

“I’m a spy!” she protests. “It’s not like I could tell her my real name!”

He just raises a mocking eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up, Steve,” she hisses. “Go arrest your childhood best friend.”

He does. Well, he does something to the guy on the ground. To Darcy, it definitely looks more like hugging than arresting, but whatever. She's not gonna judge.

“Hi, Cap!” Jane pipes up.

“Hi, Jane!” he beams in return, before

“Cap?” Darcy asks. “Wait, as in Captain America? Have all the Avengers been coming to my coffee shop, and I never noticed?”

“Tony definitely hasn’t been,” Natasha says, “And Clint prefers his coffee literally straight from the pot. But I’m pretty sure Bruce is addicted to your chai lattes.”

“How could this even happen?” Darcy says, eyes huge. “What the hell.”

“To be fair,” Jane informs her, “You started working there because it was super convenient to my lab. My lab located in S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters.”

“Okay, yeah, you may have a point,” Darcy concedes. Then she’s almost knocked over by about six people in black suits pushing past her to get to the dude she just Tased. She’s only saved from total embarrassment by Nadia – no, Natasha – wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her close.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about my job as a super secret assassin slash government employee,” Natasha murmurs into her ear. “Forgive me?”

“Sorry I sold you decaf that one time and said you were imagining the difference,” Darcy returns. “And I’ll forgive you if you follow through on that date.”

“I knew you were lying about the decaf!” Natasha says triumphantly, and then beams at Darcy, eyes soft and happy. “And I’m glad I get a second chance.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Please,” she scoffs. “Bone structure like that, of course you get a second chance.”

“Still, you didn’t have to forgive me,” Natasha says.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me,” Darcy sighs, lifting her arms to wrap around Natasha’s neck, and Natasha does.

Thoroughly.

Very thoroughly, for about three minutes, until one of the S.H.I.E.L.D lackeys taps her on the shoulder. Natasha pulls away reluctantly.

“Agent Romanoff? Debriefing back at headquarters,” he says apologetically.

Natasha sighs, before turning back to Darcy. “I have to go,” she tells her, “But I’ll pick you up for dinner tomorrow night at eight pm, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy agrees, breathless from the kiss, and presses another quick kiss to Natasha’s lips before shoving her away. “Now go be a good government employee. And try to get me Captain America’s autograph, if you can.”

“I’ll sign your boobs,” Natasha offers up, faux-innocent, and Darcy laughs, raucous and bright and still a little tipsy, until she’s left the bar completely.

“So,” Jane says, voice barely containing her laughter. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“I told you she was hot,” Darcy says, and she smiles all the way home.


End file.
